is it warm enough for you?
by ameriboo
Summary: "He doesn't say a word. Doesn't bother to even say her name but she can't find it in herself to care."—Paul & Misty; AU


**disclaimer: i don't own anything. warning: mild smut, cursing, drugs and alcohol mention. every character is of age (18)**

**notes: this is a dedication to my mama lennix and her lovely mind and soul. she really got me over here thinking about these fools—a literal crack shit. whatever we have taste and this is my lazy college AU we love to cry on about. anyway, love to lennix and shout out to SZA's song drew barrymore. **

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**get so lonely, she forgets what she is worth.**

The harsh crash of Misty dropping her lukewarm bottle of Blue Moon concealed the sound of her heart cracking. A couple of May's sorority sisters yelped as they cried on about glass and their suede Steven Maddens but Misty paid no mind to them. She kicked the brown glass to the corner with a swift quick, attention stuck and stomach churning. The beer sticking to her bare legs or its wheat scent didn't faze her mind.

The sight of Ash Ketchum and Serena Beaumont, arm in arm, entering through the corridors into the middle chaos of the house party was all she could fixate on. Ash whispered something into Serena's golden halo of hair which the perfect angel responds to with a giggle, wrapping her hand around his as they were welcomed by the party. Her blood ran cold as she nitpicked at how Serena's millennial blush pink vans matched perfectly with her light denim mom jeans. Misty follows Serena on Instagram-she has never seen that outfit before. Misty looked down at her old pair of red Converse and takes a deep breath. She stepped away from the puddle of glass and beer and heads to the bar in the corner of the room—Serena and Ash still in her view.

A greaseball freshman, still in the rush process of Alpha Omega Pi, stood behind the countertop filling up red solo cups of blood red jungle juice. Misty jumped in the front of the line, wearing a Medusa glare that dares anyone to say anything to her. The string bean greaseball, wearing a tacky Hawaiian shirt, gave her a cocky grin as he passed over a red solo cup filled to the brim with the recipe of disaster.

"Red," the freshman said her name with force, "here you go."

Misty raised an irritated brow. "Do I know you?"

His overly-confident energy simmered into a sheep-like expression. "I'm Hunter...Gary's future little."

Misty didn't even offer a nod nor care enough to remember that. She should've guessed by the shirt and the mannerisms that he was a Gary Oak wannabe trying to embody the president of Alpha Omega and all his "glory." "Right, okay," she said, barely looking him in the eye as she pushed the red solo cup back. "Yeah, so I don't do jungle juice. Give me a shot of Bombay Sapphire, please."

Hunter or whatever his name was shuffled and quickly brought out a sapphire-blue bottle of gin from below, pouring the liquor into a plastic shot glass for her. The redhead offered a rushed thanks. Amid her taking the shot back, she felt a warm hand touch her bare shoulders.

"Let me take one with you, Red."

Misty rolled her seafoam eyes. "Gary, don't sneak up on me like that."

The President of AOP didn't even have to say a word to the bar as Hunter already poured him his own shot. Gary winked at the younger boy as he wrapped his arms around Misty's shoulders.

"To our future," Gary cheered, raising his shot in the air like a King with his chalice. "May it be long and—"

Misty didn't bother listening to the end of his statement as she flung the clear acid to the back of her throat. Warmth overcomes her senses as she crinkled her nose in mild disgust at the aftertaste.

"You take shots so pretty, Misty," he said, full of sincerity, as he let out a shallow breath after taking his shot.

"Thanks," she replied frankly, turning around to monitor the sea of wasted youth in search of a certain someone. "Have you seen Ash anywhere?"

Something in Gary's expression shifts and he lets his arm fall from Misty's figure. "He just walked in with Serena like two minutes ago—went to the DJ booth to talk to Clemont," he answered solemnly, grabbing two beers from a doting Hunter. Gary passed one to Misty who naturally takes it and pops the cap off with her lighter before popping off his.

"That's all?" Misty pressed the beer to her lips, taking an eager swig.

Gary frowned, taking a gentle sip from the bottle. He looked down at her.

"—I saw them go downstairs to his room."

The flash of Ash's bed on the ground and Serena spread out on his sheets, melting under ever warm touch Ash gives her. Serena, a lady and a sweetheart and everything Misty doesn't stand for, opening her arms up and accepting every part of Ash. Then the jeans are off and Ash is in love and—

Misty inhaled sharply, taking another swig of her beer.

"Sorry, I—" Misty doesn't let him say another word. The redhead reached for Gary's hand and squeezed it tight in an attempt to show him that it's okay. That she is okay.

He squeezed it back, looking down at her with borderline yearning. Drew, the Prince of their little kingdom, walked up to Gary's side. To Misty, it's a sign that it's okay to let her friends be. Gary would understand.

She rushed away from him, not daring to look back as she pushed through the crowd of dancing fools.

A million thoughts rush through her head. She could seek out May, Dawn, and Iris and go home with them to bottles of wine? But Iris was already at their home, probably curled up and asleep away from all the messiness that was an AOP party. Currently, May is wrapped around Hot Steven aka TA Steven aka her current distraction. Misty didn't want to ruin that for her—he never wanted to go to parties and May finally dragged him to one. May, as president of Gamma Delta, took her socializing as a serious matter all while holding onto her bottle of Cîroc like a scepter. Dawn, on the other hand, was occupied by her little game of cat and mouse between her and Zoey. Theater kid Zoey with the septum and nipple piercing that obviously wants to wife Dawn up but is taking her sweet, sweet time with the process.

Dawn dancing on Zoey in pure joy. May with Hot Steven holding her waist from behind, nuzzling into her neck. The image of Ash and Serena downstairs. The synchronization of the bright rainbow lights and EDM music. It all overwhelmed her.

Misty chugged the rest of her beer before pushing herself through to the upstairs. The weight of her emotions pressed down on her as she fought back the mixed tears. Tears flavored with sadness, love, and anger.

She immediately passed Gary's room, Drew's room and headed towards the bathroom. She jingled the handle and heard loud thumping sounds coming from the other side. Locked and occupied.

Misty looked around for the only room she doesn't hear the laughter of girls. Misty finds the door with the large 'KEEP OUT' sign on the front with a crude drawing of a dick on it.

She rushed in and slammed the door behind her. The muffled EDM music is overpowered by the sounds of rich vinyl playing the Velvet Underground and all she could see is thick smoke touched by a red light. Paul's room.

The dark-haired, nonconforming hermit hypocrite of AOP often hid away during parties unless it was to spend some time out on the balcony or bum off peoples' cigarettes and liquor. Ash was the one who told her that the only reason Paul rushed was to get an extra in his allowance from his dad. Paul's father and brother were both members of the brotherhood. Paul, out of all people, was a legacy. Tonight, he was sprawled out on his bed, draped in black sweats and a black t-shirt.

With a fierce glare and a blunt in hand, Paul exhaled a cloud as he peered into Misty's figure standing against his door. "What the fuck?"

Misty's fingers flexed with agitation. He was so rude all the time. "Just—just give me a second before I go out there again."

"You can't take your pissy fit somewhere else?" He questioned as he lazily ashes his blunt on the rolling tray on his bedside table.

Misty scoffed at his use of plastic water bottles and his copy of Ernest Hemingway's _The Sun Also Rises_. Paul was so typical.

She walked to his bed, taking a seat with her arms keeping her up. Taking a deep breath, she listened to the sounds of the record player sing on about a Femme Fatale and her breaking hearts with her false colored eyes. "Nowhere else to go, prick."

"Whatever," he mumbled, passing the blunt over to her, watching her listen to his music. Her entire body lit by the red light from his ceiling.

Misty placed the blunt between her lips, dragging it and letting the heat of the weed fill her lungs. After a couple of seconds of holding it in, she released a silver cloud and passed it back to Paul.

She couldn't lie. She regretted not bringing her own stash, but she was glad Paul wasn't against sharing. His shit hit right.

"I'll be gone in a minute," she told him, looking him in the eye. The white of his eyes colored a soft pink. Misty closed her eyes and swallowed the lump dangling in her throat, letting it drop down to her cracked heart. "Waiting for this shitty party to be over."

"Everyone is fucked." Is all Paul could offer.

Misty rolled her eyes opened, adjusting herself so that she can see him. He looks her straight on as he took another drag, his body against the wall near his bed, sitting there like he was gracing her with his presence.

Misty observed his exposed tan collar bones and a chiseled jaw. Her high began setting in as her mouth went dry—something warm and needy pooling in her stomach. His molten eyes closing in, tearing through her as his attention flicked up and down her body.

'He's so hot but so evil,' May in Misty's foggy memory spouts as she played on her smartphone. 'No one likes him—but the guys say his dick is thick as—'

Biting her lip, she kicked off her high tops and crawled across Paul's mattress as if she was following the trail of smoke escaping his mouth. She settled herself close—her hip near the edge of his thigh.

"My turn," she ordered, leaning in. The scent of weed and fresh tobacco taking over her senses.

"Sure," Paul murmured, his hazy eyes locked on Misty's.

His hand held the blunt out for her to take.

As she reached for it, Paul touched Misty's arm and pulled her forward. His face dangerously close to hers—an embarrassing little chirp escaped from the back of her burning throat. Chills run down her spine as Paul's fingers tightened around her arm with no subtlety.

He doesn't say a word. Doesn't bother to even say her name but she can't find it in herself to care. Paul set the blunt to the side without taking his eyes off her, opening his mouth to say something, but Misty's hand on his neck and no words fall out as their lips meet halfway. Eyes closed, she took in the tingles and heat of his body against hers. She maneuvered her body to sit on his stomach—her legs on either side of his body. Misty kissed with fervor, dipping into him and sweeping her tongue into Paul's mouth. Paul dipped lazily into her, hands gripping her curves. Big, calloused palms on her exposed midriff as he pulled her body into him.

The ginger's body instinctively rolled, kissing back as best as she can before pulling back. "_Shit_," Misty cursed softly, full of realization. He looked up at her annoyed, chest raised, licking his lips.

Paul slipped his fingers under her high-waisted denim shorts, earning an unimpressed look from Misty. "What?" he questioned blatantly, grazing his fingers along the flushed skin of her thighs. "You climbed over me."

"Shut up," she growled, pressed their heaving chest together with a grip onto his t-shirt. Her ass circles over his pelvis and she can feel Paul's hard length through his black sweats poking at her. He hoisted her bottom up and braced her body against him, moaning into her swan neck.

Paul squeezed her plump ass with both hands as he rolled into her, causing Misty to mewl hotly into his mouth. "Shh—" he whispered as he pressed again.

Misty ignored him, her mustard painted nails scratching under his shirt. A hard stomach, a hard chest—everything about him was hard and unforgiving. She rolled the basic tee off his torso as he reached over and tore hers off, flinging her crocheted primary colored halter top across the room.

"That's handmade," she said breathless, her chest flushed and bare against his. Dawn spent the summer picking up a lot of hobbies.

"I truly don't give a fuck," he growled, wrapping one of his arms around her waist and cupping her full breast with his free hand.

His thumb circled her tanned nipple, bringing her stomach to a coil in want. Her blanked mind and nerves of fire keep Misty on Earth with wet between her thighs. She leaned up to Paul's throat, teeth grazing over at the curvature and muscle.

She wants to mark, to leave stinging welts on his skin. To claim something for just a moment.

Misty doesn't stroke his hair or say his name. She accepted him as nothing but a distraction, a momentarily release before she wakes up in the morning with a heavy heart. Her lack of inhibition brought her not to care that it's him making her fingers twitch in the plum colored sheets, her back arching in want. That hungry wolf stare sending waves of heat through her veins, her mind, and body in a crossfaded daze.

Pulling back again, Misty pushed the palm of her hand against his chest, fingers spread and digging into the raw skin slightly.

"One time," she warned, unbuttoning her jeans as she accepted the way something dark flashed across Paul's eyes as he mentally devoured her. "This is only going to be a onetime thing—ah."

Paul had her arms over her head by the time Misty finished her words. Greedily, Paul pressed his knee between her thighs as he crawled up her body. Staring down at how undone she looked as the crimson light kissed her skin.

She closed her eyes, breathing in and out as she listened to Paul closing his side table drawer and ripped plastic. A condom. A hand pressed down on her abdomen.

In an erotic high, their bare bodies dipped into each other as the rest of their clothes were kicked off in a stupid hurry. Misty ignored the way he groaned her name into her neck as entered in a slow rhythm, and he ignored the way she held back any name—as if she feared whose she was going to cry out.

She kissed him again, dangerous and slow, as she pressed herself against him in a rolling fit. Tenderness sheds as his hovered over her body, going against her fast and hard, making her see white.

The record phased out to an eerie end as all could be heard in the room were their sounds mixing together in a wicked song as everything outside of the room faded away.

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notes: sorry for being a hot mess. anyway, yeah, paul and misty? in 2019? crazy stuff happens.


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